Can We Still Be Friends?
by Mad-like
Summary: What are you willing to do to make all your dreams come true?
1. The Little Sister

**Standard disclaimer goes here.**

This short story - maybe 10 chapters max- is about what happens after all of your dreams come true.

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Mercedes Jones looked at the young girl in front of her. She was white, which was a surprise. There's so many non-white girls enrolled in the big/little sister program she'd expected to get matched with a black girl. Black like her but instead she's looking an average 12 year old white girl. Average height, light brown hair and dark brown eyes. Pretty eyes, what Mercedes could see of them when she focused past the layers of eyeshadow. And she's very well-developed for 12, she could pass for 16 easy - 18 if a guy wanted to believe it and if she was dressed and made-up the way she's dressed and made-up today, prep school blazer over a white blouse and short skirt. The way she's dressed is why her dad signed her up for this program, he wanted her to have a good female role model and off the track she seems determined to follow. They're both originally from small-town Ohio and Beth Cocoran wanted to learn to cook and Mercedes is a chef. Maybe that's the connection.

"Good morning, Beth." Mercedes smiled and extended her hand.

"It's Bette." the girl said with a scowl, ignoring the hand.

"Okay. Good morning, Bette." She smiled harder. "My name is Mercedes and I'm really excited to meet you."

"Like the car?" Bette rolled her eyes. "Your parents named you after a car?"

"No, the car was named after a littler girl named Mercedes. It's Spanish for Mercy."

"Oh." The girl remained standing. "I'm taking French."

"And how do you like that?"

"It sucks. Hey, are we done yet?"

"No. We haven't even started." Mercedes was already regretting this unpaid volunteer job. "Don't you have any questions for me?"

"Just one." Bette said with a half smile. "Are we done yet?"

"I thought you wanted to be a chef, that's one of your goals? Right?"

"Yeah, but..." Bette really wanted to do some serious flirting down at the local high school and they get out soon. "I didn't know that was going to be today. I've got stuff to do." she whined.

"Your dad, Noah, correct?" Bette sighed and rolled her eyes at the name. "Said you had the afternoon free. I can call and double-check." She pulled out her cellphone, subtly putting Bette on notice.

"No prob." Bette double-downed on her scowl. "It's just..."

"I know." Mercedes laughed, more at ease this time. "Stuff." She picked up her bag, a very pricey bag Bette noticed, and stood up. She's short, no more than 5-3. She was pretty, in a don't give a damn sort of way. Her hair was short and curly and she wore no makeup. Her smile was nice enough, kind of cheeky, and she's wearing it out to tell the truth. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Pricey jeans and a charity t-shirt. Santa Clarita Habitat for Humanity Build Week. Over the t-shirt was an expensive leather jacket.

Bette wondered if she was rich or just a good shopper. Her mom, Shelby, was dirt poor but always dressed the two of them like she'd spent a fortune. Especially Bette because little rich girls always outgrew their cloths before they wore them more than once or twice. That was the first thing Bette did when she got here, map the thrift stores within walking distance of her dad's apartment. Then she started scouting for boys. Shelby managed to score big with a rich husband, a husband who thought it was a fine idea for Bette to spend the school year with her bio-dad, no reason why Bette can't start looking for the same.

"So shall we see what stuff we can find at the restaurant?" Mercedes was asking her again. Eye-rolls and dramatic sighs are wasted on this woman so Bette had no choice but to follow her out the door.

Dashiell was an upscale lounge/restaurant in a classy part of LA. When they walked into the cool interior Bette was greeted by dark wood and white tablecloths. Waiters and busboys were setting the tables for dinner service. The waiters were older men and women but the busboys? Bette could learn to like it here. She was checking out an Asian, she guessed he was Asian but LA's a melting pot so you never know, busboy when she nearly tripped over a man in a wheelchair.

"You must be Beth." The dark haired man extended his hand.

"Bette." She corrected but she'd held our her hand before she remembered she was being sulky.

"Hello, Bette. Artie, partial owner of this fine establishment." He turned his attention to Mercedes. And took off his glasses, rubbing them on his shirt. "I'm glad you came in early. Rory quit."

"Lucky Rory. Tina was about 5 minutes away from killing him last night. And we'd both miss T."

"Me more than you. I'd hate to see my wife locked up of murder, justifiable as it may have been."

"Lucky day all around. " She looked at her sullen assistant. "Bette, welcome to prep-chef 101."

"You're making me work?" Bette was aghast.

"What do you think they do in restaurant kitchens? Course I can call your dad and he'll help you do 'stuff'. Hang out with him or make $10/hour. Your choice." Mercedes headed toward the kitchen.

Bette sighed as loudly as she could but was answered by Mercedes' rumbling laugh.

"Max!" Artie called out and the cute Asian boy looked up. "Bette here is joining us for a few hours. Can you show her around and then deposit her in the kitchen? Thanks much."

"So where do you go to school?" Max asked goodnaturedly. He looked like one of those kids that was always happy about something.

"Our Lady of Perpetual Boredom."

"Ohh, we have ourselves a high-class dame here." he teased.

"Nope. A rich step-dad. They figured if they're going to dump me it should be someplace nice."

"Where are you from?"

"Ohio."

"Ohio? Who ain't from Ohio? Artie, T, Mercedes, me. All representing the great state of Ohio. Well, welcome to Dashiell's." He handed her an apron with a flourish. "Wear it with pride."

"I'm not working here." But she tied on the apron anyway. "I'm Mercedes' charity project."

"What does that mean?"

"My dad signed me up for a big sister." Max looked confused. "Big sister/little sister? She's supposed to set a good example, make me stay on the straight and narrow."

"Why? What did you do?" His brown eyes sparkled in anticipation of a good story. "Something scandalous?"

"Shoplifting." She answered.

"Something sparkly for a fancy smancy party?" He held out his arm and admired an imaginary bracelet.

"No, just a sweater from Goodwill."

"You tried to jack a sweater from Goodwill?" He shook his head in amazement. "Hardly worth the effort."

"Well, I figured there was less chance of getting caught there. I needed that sweater."

"A sweater? Your rich daddy wouldn't buy you a sweater from Goodwill?"

"Not that." She looked down, embarrassed. "Let's call it an initiation fee."

"Initiation fee?" She was hanging with a gang already? "Home or school?"

"School."

"Really? That's classy. I'd walk away from all that if I was you."

"You're not the new kid." She whined. "I swear the rest of those girls were born at that school."

"AV club. That's the one I joined when I first came here. Nothing to prove to AV kids."

"How long have you been here?" Bette didn't want to discuss her friends with this guy, no matter how cute he was.

"Couple of months. Tina's my sister and I know a thing or two about getting sent far, far, away. I'm glad to be out of Ohio, to tell the truth."

"How old are you?" Please say you can drive. Please, please, please Bette prayed.

"Fourteen. You?"

"Thirteen." Almost she added mentally.

"Really? I would have guessed older. Oh well, here's the kitchen. It's hella hot in there. Have fun."

- **two hours later** -

Noah Puckerman stood in the lobby of the restaurant, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the brightness outside.

"May I help you?" a young Asian woman standing behind the front desk asked.

"Yes. I'm Noah Puckerman, Beth's or lately she's calling herself Bette's dad?" He flashed the woman his sexiest smile before remembering he was trying to break that habit. "She's with Mercedes Jones." he added, just in case none of what he just said made sense.

"Yes, she's a sweet girl. Really picked up on knife skills. Not everybody does." She pointed. "Straight just past the bar." Tina watched him walk away. Now she saw where Bette got her flirty ways.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Puckerman." Mercedes wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at the tall hazel-eyed man. "Bette's been a pleasure." They shook hands and both looked over at the girl helping Max load the dishwasher. Dishwasher loading at home usually resulted in a two hour screamfest. But then again home had a distinct shortage of cute guys. Well, at least this one had a job and seemed to be under 21.

"Thank you very much for helping Bette." He looked around the kitchen while discretely eying the short black woman holding a pan. "Nice kitchen."

"You've worked in a commercial kitchen before?"

"Where haven't I worked? Yes, I've worked short-order in a dive and prep in a nice place like this.."

"Did you say prep-chef?" Her eyes had a sparkle to them, Noah liked that. "We suddenly need one."

"Well, suddenly I need a job but I have to be home nights. That's the problem with restaurant work, late nights. Late nights on my part and teenaged rebellion on Bette's part – bad mix."

"We prep in the afternoons. You'd be out by 5. Maybe we'd need you later on Saturday but you'd still be out by 7."

"Deal!" he offered his hand and his sexy smile. Damn, what kind of example was he setting for Bette if he leered at every woman in his field of vision. On the other hand, she was a damn fine looking woman, not all skin and bones like most of them here. Noah liked a woman with a little meat on her bones and she had just the right amount, a size 10 in the land of 2s. He wondered if she was single. He'd have to check her hand next time.

- **Several weeks later **-

"Happy Birthday, Bette!" Between her personal unpopularity and her dad's unreasonable standards, her pool of friends was down to one – Rayna Bharat. Rayna was a scholarship student who knew she'd never keep up with the rich girls so she decided to not give a shit what they thought and therefore she didn't mind being seen with Bette. And Rayna had enough bad habits to be interesting. Rayna would be on his list too if dad ever found out – but he won't will he? Bette sat at the Hibachi grill, watching the cheesy flaming onion volcano. How old did he think she was, 5? She smiled, not at the chef catching eggs in his hat but at the thought of how she'd spend the money her mom sent her. A thousand dollars, no strings. Ah, the joys of a guilty conscience, at least that's how Rayna called it. Her dad gave her two hundred, about what she'd expected, and promised to drive them wherever they wanted tomorrow. She'd skim off 50 or so for a purchase from Rayna's pothead friends and then the rest? She'd show them how good you can look dressed from the thrift store.

"One last thing, baby." Her dad said, handing her an envelope. "It's from Mercedes."

"Your big sister?" Rayna gushed. Rayna had a mom and dad at home and had to settle for Dharna, her older sister. Rayna got totally screwed when you think about it, and all because she had a happy, intact family. Totally unfair in Rayna's opinion. "How much?"

Bette opened the card and read it first. Very impolite to go straight for the check, Shelby taught her that much. Then she looked at the tickets, not cash, enclosed in the card. Then she screamed. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!"

"What?" Noah and Rayna asked at the same time.

But Bette was stuck on repeat. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!"

Rayna gently pried the four tickets from her friend's clasp. "Oh. My. God!" she whispered in awe. She jumped up and hugged Bette. "We're gonna see Sam Evans!"


	2. Can We Still Be Friends

Thanks for the reviews and feedback! I have almost all the players in place, just a couple more to introduce in this and the next chapter. Sorry if I threw too many of them out there in chapter one.

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"Sam who?" The name meant nothing to Noah.

"Daddy!" Bette squealed. "He's hanging right over my bed!"

"Which one is he?" Noah visualised the poster of 4 generic pretty boys hanging over Bette's bed. Five guys carefully chosen to appeal to daughters without alienating their parents. Pick one from each column, blonde, brunette, and two bi-racial boys, though you had to look hard to tell. One was white/Asian and the other black/white.

"The sexi...I mean the sweet one." Bette answered. Rayna rolled her eyes. She much preferred Jacob, the honey-colored black one.

"Oh, and he's a singer or something?"

"Daddy!" Noah knew she must be excited if she's calling him daddy. "They all sing. That's the whole point of the show! It's just he's the first one to put out an album on his own. And these tickets, they're impossible to get! They sold out in 3 minutes. And look! Fucking..."

"Bette!" Noah said sharply.

"Fricking front row, center, baby! How the hell, I mean heck, did she get these?" Bette didn't actually care how she got these. "Rayna, do you think Max would go with me?" What to wear? What to wear?

-**Friday night** -

Mercedes listened to three girls chattering in the back seat. Bette, Rayna and her sister Dharna. Rayna's parents were old school and thought 13 was too young to date so she brought along her 16 year-old sister. The three girls were bubbling with excitement.

This concert was at a small venue, more an album release party than anything else, and tickets were scarce. As for Sam, he was one of the two break-out stars of "CollegeTown" the musical sit-com he's famous for. Rayna was team Jacob and Dharna had a thing for Blaine but still they were all excited, invited to practically a private concert at the hottest club in town. Mercedes just shook her head and laughed to herself, trying to remember what it's like to be so young and so happy.

"So how did you get those tickets?" Rayna asked. "Miss Jones." she remembered to add at the last minute.

"A friend." she answered.

"You're friends with Sam Evans?" Bette is so lucky to have a crappy home life, Rayna thought.

"I said" Mercedes clarified "a friend got the tickets for me. So who do you think is cutest?" She asked, deftly changing the subject.

"Sam!"

"Blaine!"

"Jacob!"

"None of the above." Max grumbled. "Wouldn't kill them to have more girls on that show."

"They all have girlfriends." Bette pointed out. "Well, all except Jacob."

"But the girlfriends don't do anything." Dharna added. "And Jacob's girlfriend is 'back home' whatever that means."

"That's what I mean, the girls are only there so you know the boys aren't gay. God forbid one of them be gay! But the girls? They have no agency!" Max said with emphasis.

"Listen to you!" Mercedes was impressed. "Agency?"

"It means they don't exist outside of the function of girlfriend. Like they live on a shelf otherwise. They don't treat them like real characters." Max explained.

"Max! Where'd you come up with that?" Mercedes asked.

"I've got two moms, and one of them is a professor of Women and Gender studies. Add to that two older sisters. Darn it was hard watching TV in a house full of women, every show is a debate on gender identity and they hated "CollegeTown" the most. They used to call it Testosterone Town."

"Well" Mercedes said to the boy sitting in the front seat. "Knowing Sam there'll be plenty of pretty girls there. He's kind of a magnet."

"I thought you said you didn't know him." Dharna pointed out.

"Oh look! We're here!"

- **the next morning **-

"So we're sitting there, dad, in the front row! The front row! And Mercedes? Well you've only seen her at work and she's wearing that chef's jacket? Well, I've been out with her places and she always dresses like she's auditioning for "What Not To Wear", not to be rude but it's true! Well last night she looked like she put some effort into it and she looked really good. So Sam, he walked right over to us! Hell yeah he did! He grabbed a guitar from one of the guys in the band and he sat down on the edge of the stage, right in front of us, and started singing." Bette watched the screen play out in her head.

_We can't play this game anymore  
But can we still be friends?  
Things just can't go on like before  
But can we still be friends?  
We had something to learn  
Now it's time for the wheel to turn  
Grains of sand, one by one  
Before you know it's  
All gone_

_Let's admit we made a mistake_  
_But can we still be friends?_  
_Heartbreak's never easy to take  
But can we still be friends?  
It's a strange, sad affair  
Sometimes seems like we just don't care  
Don't waste time feeling hurt  
We've been through hell  
Together_

_We awoke from our dream  
Things are not always what they seem  
Memories linger on  
It's like a sweet, sad,  
Old song_

"And then!" Bette paused for dramatic effect.

"What?" Noah dried the breakfast dish Bette handed him. That had been one of his better ideas, getting her a big sister. Since then Bette was much more helpful around the house. She still left a mess behind but would clean up after herself, if he asked her. Max bears watching but he was 14 and acted like a kid. Max he could deal with, he's far better than that highchool boy that had been sniffing around the house.

"He jumped off the stage! I almost died! He was two feet away! You should find out what cologne he wears cause damn he smelled good! An old guy like you needs all the help he can get."

"Thanks for the advice, I'll look into it."

"Seriously, you should. So anyway he walked up to Mercedes, yes Mercedes! He walked up and kissed her hand. All old fashioned southern gentleman like." She looked at her own hand, imagining how his kiss felt. "Then he whispered something in her ear but whatever it was pissed her off."

"She's an ex-girlfriend?" Noah reconsidered his evaluation of her. She was nowhere near model/dancer skinny which is what famous men tend to like. He liked he liked her looks, her personality and made a mental note to get to work early, before she put on that chef's jacket so he could take a better look at her body.

"No! Even better!" Bette grinned, her dad was going to love this part. "Guess what! No, you'll never guess so I'll tell you. She's his wife!"

"His wife?" She's married to a rock star and slaving away in a restaurant kitchen?

"Wife! Yes indeed." Bette chuckled. "His wife!"

**- 2am the previous night -**

The knock was the same. Of course it was, why should it have changed? Two short and one long, a secret knock from back when that was all they could afford. Secret knocks, private jokes, afternoons spent naked in bed, making love and writing songs nobody was ever going to hear.

"It's open!" She called out, not moving from her position on the living room floor.

"You leave the door unlocked?" he asked. "That's kinda dangerous." She looked up into that familiar face. The three hundred dollar haircut was an improvement but his eyes. Of course they were still that brilliant green that first caught the director's attention, but he looked tired she thought. She didn't delude herself that he was upset about her.

"I buzzed you in, remember? Just lock it behind you." Mercedes held up an empty wineglass. "I forget, are you on or off the wagon these days?"

"Off again." Sam poured a glass of red wine and sat on the floor next to her. She must be writing because she prepared for that like most women prepared for their boyfriends. The lights were dimmed, scented candles were lit, wine was poured. And sure enough a notebook from the dollar store, Dora the Explorer in this case, was open on the table in front of her.

She closed the notebook and turned to face him. "So why did you want to talk to me?"

"I wanted to thank you." He looked at her beautiful full lips with just a hint of lipgloss, lips that were now off limits.

"For what?"

"For being so accommodating about the divorce. For waiting until filming for the season was over and the album came out."

"No problem. Best of luck with the album. I really mean that and not just because I've got so many song-writing credits on it."

"Did you listen to it yet?" He asked eagerly.

"No." He looked disappointed. "I mean, I heard it at the concert, The kids loved it, especially your duets with Quinn." She drained the glass and refilled it. "Much as I hate to say it you two sound good together."

"Quinn's not on the album. She just did the show for publicity and as a favor to me. In that order."

She reached over him to pick up the CD. She was wearing an oversized tshirt from Ohio State and Sam admired her beautiful brown thighs but didn't touch her. She looked at the credits on the back cover. Featuring Mercedes Jones Evans.

"Why?" she asked, sitting down again. "Wouldn't Quinn help sales and airplay?"

"We're doing it on the show next season so you, as the songwriter, get paid either way. I wanted you on the album, that's why we came out here all those years ago and you deserve it. Also I like our version better. So does San. She's your agent, too. And San likes you, which is an unusual thing, Santana actually liking somebody." He put the still full wineglass down. "She thinks I'm an ass."

"A money-making ass."

"That I am." he agreed. "And as long as I'm making money for all concerned she'll represent me. And at the end of the line she'll bail, like they all do."

She frowned. "Surely you're not talking about me."

"No, I'm not taking about you and don't call me Shirley."

"Just blow the dust off that joke, why don't you?' she laughed and lightly punched his arm.

"You know you love it." He punched her arm in return.

"Sam," she chewed her bottom lip. "Do you remember the last time we had sex?"

"Yes. " He was suddenly serious again, remembering. "It was quick. You were going to Ohio to help your brother and sister-in-law out with their new baby. I couldn't go because of the show. You almost missed your flight, giving me something to remember while you were gone."

"It was good, the sex was always good." She remembered too. "but if I'd known it was going to be the last time..." She crouched in front of him, straddling his outstretched legs. "Sam, what would you have done differently if you'd known?"

He looked into her deep brown eyes. "If I had known, known that even a love as deep as yours isn't endless, there's a boatload of shit I wouldn't have done."

She nodded, thinking about what he'd said. "Maybe it was just a matter of time. Wheels turning and all that. But here's my point. If you had a do-over, knowing it's the last time ever, what would you do differently?"

-** the next morning **-

Sam stretched and rolled over. Mercedes wasn't there, but her side of the bed was still warm. How quickly they had fallen back into her side, his side. He hugged her pillow, wrapped himself in her sheets, surrounding himself with her scent. Last night was like old times, not the last few years but old old times, like right around the time they got married. Those were memorable times. They'd been virgins when they got married, but only in the strictest most technical sense of the word. There's so much you can do and still be a virgin, technically, and they'd done it all. By the time they got married each knew exactly what the other liked and didn't like. He'd spent the entire night making her happy and she was taking him back, he was sure of that.

He listened for a minute. The house was quiet, maybe she left for work already, but she also left breakfast on the dresser, just like she used to. San's a genius, stalling on the divorce. He could finish filming the season without unnecessary publicity distractions and the longer she had to think about it the more unsure Mercedes would be. He knew her, you'd never know it by the way he acted but he truly loved her. And she loved him. He was positive about that. Yes, she had described it as having sex, not making love and normally she was very precise about that, but it had been nearly six months since she walked out. That was a very trivial point, Sam thought. Beyond trivial. She'd forgive him like she had before.

Sam looked at his clothes, neatly folded and placed on chair, just like when they lived like a married couple. He picked up his cellphone and looked at his messages. Shit! He's going to be late if he doesn't leave now. He noticed the envelope on top of his clothes. Later, he could read it later. He carried the tray to the kitchen, she'd appreciate the thoughtfulness. He grabbed one of the still-warm muffins. Damn it was good but then again, it was baked with love. He laughed, she was always saying that, even when all they could afford was macaroni and cheese. It tastes so good 'cause it's made with love, baby!

-** that afternoon **-

Santana Lopez looked up from her laptop at a scowling Sam Evans. The dark-eyed woman pushed back her wavy black hair and scowled back. "Your reviews are great! What the hell is your problem today?"

"She was there."

"So? You knew she was going to be there. I told you she asked me for tickets for some kid for something or other. And the kid was right in your demographic, so she probably had to drive her there."

"She invited me over."

"And..." San leered at him.

"And." And none of your business Sam thought.

"So the divorce is off again? Listen Sam, I like Mercedes, I really do, but you ought to cut her loose. A – She deserves better than the likes of you. No offense but you're kind of a slut. Don't take that wrong, some of my best friends are sluts. B..."

"Or, the divorce is so on!" He handed Santana the envelope Mercedes left for him. "She wants to know if you can sell this."

Santana scanned the lyrics in front of her. Oh yeah, this divorce is on. "She finished it early this morning, after I fell asleep. I bared my soul..." San snickered and Sam ignored her. "to that woman and all we was doing was research."

"Poor baby" San said absent-mindedly, her mind working on how to sell this song. "Is there music to go with it?"

"Thanks for your heartfelt concern and I don't know." He answered brusquely. "And I don't care. I feel so used." he said sadly.

"Bwahhh haa haa." Santana had a particularly irritating laugh she used on occasions like this. "Rachel down in the script department has been singing that same song for the last two weeks. Now you know how the other half lives." She jumped up, scanned the lyrics and hit send. Then she sat on the leather sofa in her office next to Sam. "Poor baby!" She rubbed his back. "Want me to call Rachel and she can make it all better?" she asked half-seriously.

"San! I'm a married man!"

"My bad," She was suddenly businesslike. "I keep forgetting that based on the way you act. I think Rachel got confused too."

"I'm sorry, San, for snapping at you." He sighed. "I should go apologize to Rachel."

"Whatever." She walked over to check her email. "Excellent! Oh, but before you do that you have an interview to promote the album in about 10 minutes. You remember how I prepped you?"

"Yes, Ms. Lopez." he said with a grin, both of which were guaranteed to piss her off, reminding her she's six months older than him.

An interview was like acting, something he was good at. Best to focus on that and not his failed marriage.

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Can We Still Be Friends – Robert Palmer's cover of Todd Rundgren


	3. It's All Right With Me

__**Thank you for all the kind reviews. You're really helping me shape and redirect this story. I hope it doesn't disappoint.**

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_You can't know how happy I am that we met_  
_I'm strangely attracted to you_  
_There's someone I'm trying so hard to forget_  
_Don't you want to forget someone, too?_

_It's the wrong game, with the wrong chips_  
_Though your lips are tempting, they're the wrong lips_  
_They're not his lips, but they're such tempting lips_  
_That, if some night, you are free_  
_Then it's all right, yes, it's all right with me_

Mercedes stood in front of Noah, holding his hand and dragging him around the restaurant's elevated performance area. Britt stood behind him, one hand on his hip, the other on his shoulder, pushing him. Mercedes thought about the man who was 24 hours away from being her ex husband, Britt thought about Mercedes, Noah thought about how much he loved this job.

"Damn it, Noah! This ain't hard." Britt pushed Noah aside and took Mercedes hands. The two women danced to Ella Fitzgerald. "Just try to pay attention."

"I am paying attention! This is torture, you know, spending all my time stuck in a hot sweaty kitchen with the three sexiest chefs in LA. And now dancing! I gotta dance too?"

Tina looked up from her position on Artie's lap. "Awww, he called us sexy."

"Well he's not blind, that's for sure." Artie said. "Just clumsy as hell. Thank god he can handle a knife or our insurance bills would be out of this world. Noah, it's just a father-daughter dance, just stand there and sway. I think we have a restaurant to open so why don't you all get back to work?" Tina started to stand up. "Not you babe." he pulled her back in his lap.

"Are we interrupting?" Sam asked, irritation in his voice.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the not so silent partner." Tina stood up. "Hey Santana, Sam. Introductions, shall we? New hires since you last graced us with your presence." Tina was team Mercedes, 200%. "Brittany Pierce, pastry chef." the pretty blonde waved. "And Noah Puckerman, prep cook." Sam looked at the man with shoulder length brown hair and wanted to break the arm that was so recently holding his soon to be ex-wife. He knew that look and he didn't like it. "Mercedes I think you know."

"Thanks, T." Artie patted her on the ass. "Now I think we all have work to do?"

"Actually, San needs to talk to Mercedes." Sam looked over at this manager, who was quite openly staring after the cooking staff. Who the fuck was she staring at Noah or Brittany? Sam stored that piece of information away for later.

"What've you got for me?" Mercedes asked, sliding into a seat across from Santana. Sam she ignored. "Another head-bobbing, finger-snapping, black and sassy best friend?"

Santana sighed. "Take it from hot and spicy Latina, that's all they can see for actresses that looks like you. And face it, you're not what they think of when they think pop-star."

"Not like Sam here", Mercedes muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Sam to hear.

"Sad but true, but that's not what I'm here to talk about." Santana went on.

"Okay, shoot." She focused on Santana, blocking Sam from her mind.

"Sam showed me your last set of lyrics. Congratulations on breaking your slump, by the way, but he doesn't have music and he doesn't want to sing it." Mercedes glanced at Sam, who was studying his glass of cranberry juice. "So first, can Blaine have it?"

"Blaine?" they both asked.

"Blaine Anderson. He does vindictive heartbreak as well as anybody. They're thinking of giving it to Jacob but he doesn't even have a love interest. Of course he could suddenly get and lose a girl in one episode but I think not. It's easier to fit in Blaine's storyline and plus I'm his manager too."

"If Sam doesn't care..."

"And he doesn't." he interjected.

"Then I don't care." Mercedes continued. "I get paid either way, right?"

"Right." Santana moved on. "Next thing. Will you be here tonight? I have a potential writing partner I want you to meet. Sam wants out entirely. Right Sam?"

"Right as rain. I'm out of that in every way shape and form." He added emphatically.

"So we'll be back tonight, right before closing, so you can see if you can work with my guy." Santana thought for a minute. "Is the piano in tune?"

"Of course it's in tune! It's electronic!"

Santana ignored the mini-outburst and stood up. "Great! See you tonight. Sam, you coming with me or staying?"

They looked each other in the eye for the first time. His angry green eyes and her guarded brown eyes. He could tell she was feeling guilty about how she used him last night. Good, let her stew for a while. "I'm leaving." He said.

**- later that night -**

True to her word, Santana showed up at 10:30, half and hour before closing time. She'd planned on a quick introduction between Mercedes and her composer friend and then to pump Mercedes, or maybe Artie, about that new pastry chef. Tina hated Santana's guts so she was useless. Worse than useless if she figured out Santana was interested in Ms. Tasty Pastry.

What she hadn't planned on so much company on this expedition. She would have dumped both of these extras if they didn't make so much money for her, but unfortunately, they were both moping around her office all afternoon and Santana was a firm believer in business before pleasure. Sam, idiot number one should have given Mercedes half the thought he's spending on her now and he wouldn't be in such trouble. And Blaine! How's she gonna manage Blaine's issue? To come out, or not to come out? How will that affect his fan base? That is the question.

Mercedes slipped into the padded booth next to Blaine, as far away from Sam as possible. She unbuttoned her chef's jacket, revealing a glimpse of something interesting underneath it. She glanced at Sam, damn that's a really nice haircut, before focusing on Blaine. You could tell when filming ended, Blaine immediately stopped cutting his hair and it took a while before it got long enough to look really good. Right now it's at that awkward short and curly stage but Blaine had more than enough charm to compensate for unfortunate hair. He just wanted that song but as long as he's sucking up she might as well revel in the attention. Then she looked at the third man, a tall thin brunette with fascinating blue eyes who had been lurking at the bar for the last half hour, waiting for Santana. Did she know him from somewhere?

"Mercedes Jones, meet Kurt Hummel." Santana made the introduction.

"Nice to meet you Kurt." Mercedes said, extending her hand.

"A pleasure to meet you." He was definitely gay, she thought, listening to his voice. She frowned for a minute and Kurt was taken aback by her rudeness. Then she laughed, a deep rumbling laugh that made Sam smile involuntarily and made Santana wonder how he'd let somebody that could make a sound like that get away.

"La Mer!" She shouted.

Kurt blushed deep red, and Blaine started feeling flushed himself. "You remember that?"

"How could I forget? All the open mics I had to sit through and you're in the top 10. Top 5." She addressed Sam directly for the first time. "This was, I don't know, about a year ago? You were out of town. He's freaking awesome!" She turned back to Kurt. "Why didn't you ever come back? You would have had a spotlight if we could have contacted you."

"I was trying to impress my boyfriend. Trying to convince him I was a man of many talents." He smiled ruefully. "Turns out he was only interested in the one talent."

"Men! Tell me about it." Mercedes commiserated, shooting a sideways glance at Sam.

"So you're single now?" Blaine asked hopefully.

Kurt batted his eyelashes, which were surprising long and thick, at Blaine. "Free as a bird."

"Why didn't you tell me you sing?" Santana demanded. Kurt was a composer as far as she knew.

"Because I don't sing babe. Like I said, I was drunk and trying to hold onto a man. That doesn't make me a singer."

"Let me hear it." the dark-eyed beauty asked sweetly. "Just for me babe?"

"I'd like to hear it too." Blaine said, turning on his smoulder. Kurt blushed again, even redder this time, and looked at Mercedes. "Do you have a songbook? I can't remember the words." The two of them headed to the piano, sat down and started singing.

_Voyez_  
_ Près des étangs_  
_ Ces grands roseaux mouillés_  
_ Voyez_  
_ Ces oiseaux blancs_  
_ Et ces maisons rouillées_

_ La mer_  
_ Les a bercés_  
_ Le long des golfes clairs_  
_ Et d'une chanson d'amour_  
_ La mer_  
_ A bercé mon coeur pour la vie_

"They sound like they've been waiting all week for somebody to ask them to sing that!" Blaine stared at the man sitting at the piano singing in French. La Mer – The Sea. "So how do you know Kurt?"

"Evidently I don't know Kurt at all. That bastard! All this time and he can sing like that. I oughta kill him!"

Sam was staring at something else. She unbuttoned her chef's coat when she sat down at the piano and he could see a black sports bar underneath. He'd always liked Mercedes in black. "San, don't you think Mercedes has lost weight?" Sam asked. He'd noticed that last night but asking her directly seemed undiplomatic at the time. "I wonder if she's been sick."

"Yes, she does look thinner but no, it's not from moping over you. Face it Sam, she's over it."

"You don't know that." Sam said sullenly.

"You're right, I don't know that. I also don't know why you're sitting here with me instead of enjoying your new-found freedom."

"Technically I'm a married man for two more days."

"You never let that technicality stop you before."

"San!"

"Just saying." She poked at her salad. Rachel down in the script department? Boy his standards are sliding. Whatever. "So Blaine, are you in or out?"

"In or out of what?" He concentrated his smoulder, only this time he turned it up to a glare, onto Santana.

"Let's start with the song those two are working on. Assuming Kurt comes up with something do you want it?"

"Of course I want it. You still want no parts of it, right Sam?"

"Right as rain. I'm done with her."

"Yeah, you look done." Santana observed. "So moving on..." That pastry chef walked in and sat down next to Mercedes. She put her arm around Mercedes and Mercedes leaned against her shoulder. For once Santana was speechless but she quickly recovered. "See, Sam. I told you she moved on."

"Britt? Nah, she's mentioned her before. That's just how Britt is. They're just friends."

"I'd like to be her friend." San said softly.

"What?" Blaine asked.

"Nothing. Let's go have a chat." She stood up and headed for the piano, pulling Blaine behind her. Soon she had assumed a sexy pose leaning against the piano and eyed the blue-eyed blonde. She smiled suggestively. "Hello there!"

"Jesus, San, turn it down a notch." Kurt smirked. "Be nice to me and I'll put in a good word for you with my new friend Britt Britt."

"So how do you know my Kurtsie Wurtsie?" Britt asked, hugging Kurt.

"Five minutes and you're Kurtsie Wurtsie?"

"Some folks got it and some folks ain't." Kurt replied smugly. "Unlike you, people automatically like me."

"As if" San scoffed.

"So," Blaine addressed his question to Kurt this time. "How do you know Santana?"

"San? We went to the same high school." Kurt moved over to make room for Blaine on the piano bench.

"Highschool sweethearts?" Blaine asked.

"Not hardly." Santana replied. "We didn't run in the same circles."

"San was queen bee back then. Head bitch if you can imagine such of thing." Blaine could easily imagine that. "I was in band, several notches lower on the food chain. Then, during senior year, we ran into each other using fake ids at a gay bar."

"And suddenly I had a date I didn't have to wrestle at the end of the night."

"And suddenly I had an answer to – Kurt, when are you going to find a nice girl? Well, maybe not the nice part." He winked at Santana.

"I outta kill you." She said, ruffling his hair.

"Quit it!" He knocked her hand aside. "You know how long it takes me to get it this way. Plus you can't kill me, you love me and you know it!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll let you live if Britt wants me to."

"Oh please!" the blonde squealed. "Kurt's coming over on Sunday to hang out with us. If it's okay with him you can come to!"

**-Saturday night -**

"So how does a woman married to a rock star end up spending her Saturday night cleaning out a grease trap?" Noah asked, wrinkling his nose at greasy mess in front of him.

"How does a single father end up spending the first weekend after this daughter goes to visit her mother volunteering to clean grease traps? I'm sure Tina appreciates the night off but don't you have a date lined up?"

Noah had been looking forward to seeing Mercedes off duty, but tonight she was wearing a ratty t-shirt, sweats and her hair was pulled back with a bandana. Sexy, she was not at this particular time.

"I asked you first." He said with a seductive smile.

"Ok." She put down the scrub brush she was holding. "He wasn't Sam the rock star when we met. He was just Sam. In fact he was fat Sam who played the violin. I was fat Mercedes who played the piano. We were both in orchestra but we weren't really friends. Then, the summer between junior and senior year, I suddenly remembered a needed 40 hours of community service to met a graduation requirement and I had zero. I decided to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity because they have a store and I figured I'd be a cashier or something. Well who walks in but Sam? His folks wanted to buy a Habitat House and part of that is the family has to do 200 hours of volunteer work. So instead of hanging at the store we did construction work, mostly hauling lumber and other hot, dirty, heavy unskilled labor. By the end of the summer we'd both lost a lot of weight, hauling 2x4s will do that to you, and he also shot up 6 inches and became abstastic. He's kinda known for his excellent abs. I went from being known as 'wide load' to 'curvillicious'. Skinny is something I'll never be." She wiped her hands on her tshirt. "He used to say I was the one person he was sure loved him, not his looks. Of course girls back at school noticed the sudden change but he was a great boyfriend and a good husband." She laughed sadly. "I should say he was a good husband for 5 years. Unfortunately we were married for six."

"Why did you get divorced? If you don't mind me asking."

"Don't you read tabloids?" Noah shook his head and Mercedes continued. "Oldest reason in the world. You know how it is when beautiful models throw themselves at you."

"Models? No. But I was a player back in the day, Bette's proof of that. Yeah, I wasn't married but Bette's mother was and that didn't make a difference to either one of us. And I've been called a heartless bastard a time or two since then so I can't judge."

"I don't mind judging." She looked around the freshly scrubbed kitchen and smiled. "You know what Noah? I want to go dancing! I want to go somewhere loud and crowded and when they close down we'll hit the all night diner and you can tell me how you ended up running around with an older married woman. Then we'll roll into work late. Artie will give us his "I'm shocked, just shocked" face. Tina will give us her "About fucking time" face. I'm going to change my clothes and I'm going dancing. What do you say?"

* * *

_It's All Right With Me (Ella Fitzgerald and Nat King Cole covering Cole Porter)_

_La Mer (Chantal __Chamberland covering Charles Trenet)_


	4. We've Got Tonight

Thanks for the kind reviews. I'm trying to get this done before season four starts. Don't count on it but I'm writing as fast as I can.

* * *

Noah blinked his eyes against the sunlight streaming through the wall of glass. Now this was a lifestyle he could get used to, a house on the beach in Malibu. And these sheets? It's been years since he's known a woman who could afford silk sheets. He rolled over, hoping to catch her still asleep. No such luck. Odd, the other side of the bed is stone cold and he's completely dressed, except for shoes. He heard a low rumble of voices from the deck outside of this bedroom. What happened last night?

**- Flashback to last night -**

Noah could barely keep his eyes open. It was, he checked his watch, 2:30 and Mercedes was still dancing. They had been just about to leave this club, in his mind headed to some place private and quiet, when she ran into some friends.

"Sunny!" Mercedes hugged a short, shorter than Mercedes even, Filipino woman "When did you get back?"

"This morning." She wiped her brow and fanned her long thick hair, wafting the scent of exotic flowers. "I'm staying at Blaine's. He's around here somewhere." She looked past Mercedes to Noah.

"Sorry. Sunshine, Noah." She said, introducing them. "Noah works at the restaurant. Sunshine is Blaine's cousin. I don't remember if you met Blaine but he works with Sam."

"And how are things, back at the restaurant?" Sunshine asked hopefully.

"Things are married at the restaurant. Artie got married about six months ago."

"Damn, can't a woman leave the country for year without her man getting away?" She winked at Mercedes. "Not Miss Tina I hope?"

"Sexy Asians," Mercedes said confidentially to Noah. "Artie can't resist them. Only Tina didn't let him get away like Little Miss Sunshine did."

"You're Blaine's cousin?" Noah remembered Bette describing Blaine, the blackhaired one, as Asian but he could never see it.

"Blaine's mother and my mother are identical twins. Blaine's dad is white, mine is Filipino, that's why we don't look anything alike. I keep telling him half a Filipino is better than none, but that's a lie." She waved at Blaine. "Hey cuz! Look who I found!"

"Good Lordy Miss Mercy!" Blaine twirled Mercedes. "Whatever you've been doing lately, stop. You're about to cause a sex riot! One dance? Please!" He pulled her back on the dance floor.

"Do you mind, Noah?" she asked, laughing. "Blaine's a dancing machine and it's been years."

"Yeah, sure."

An hour later the three of them, Blaine, Sunshine and Mercedes, were still dancing when the DJ called last dance. Finally! And finally the three left the dance floor.

"This is not exactly cousin music." Blaine observed. "Noah, dance with the woman."

___Deep in my soul, I've been so lonely  
All of my hopes, fading away  
I've longed for love, like everyone else does  
I know I'll keep searching, even after today  
So there it is girl, I've said it all now  
And here we are babe, what do you say?  
We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?  
We've got tonight babe  
_Why don't you stay?

_I know it's late, I know you're weary_  
_I know your plans don't include me_  
_Still here we are, both of us lonely_  
_Both of us lonely_

_We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow?_  
_Let's make it last, let's find a way_  
_Turn out the light, come take my hand now_  
_We've got tonight babe_  
_Why don't you stay?_  
_Why don't you stay?_

_We've got tonight – Bob Seger_

Now this was more like it. A beautiful woman in his arms, her body pressed against his, her warm breath against his neck. Damn shame he was so tired.

"This is what I've wanted all night." Noah whispered in her ear, "and I'm about to pass out."

"You had such a terrible time that this is the only time we're going out together?" Mercedes laughed. "Damn I must be bad at this."

"No! God no! It's just been a long day and I'm not at my best."

"At your best for what?" She giggled drunkenly. "I'm not that kind of girl."

"What kind of girl would that be?" He was starting to wake up again, this conversation was getting interesting.

"The kind of girl that gives it up so easily." She pressed herself closer. "That kind of girl wrecked my life and he doesn't even remember half of them. You'll remember me, Noah." She said with confidence.

"Oh baby, how could I forget you?"

"Yeah, right! Anyway, tonight's not the night cause I'm exhausted too and don't feel like driving. You wanna call a cab back into town or take advantage of Blaine?"

"Blaine?"

"Yes. He offered already and he has plenty of room. Who knows, maybe tomorrow morning will be the night!"

**- end flashback –**

Apparently Sunday morning was not 'the night' either because the deck was full of people. Blaine, Sunny and Mercedes were all sitting around with cups of coffee listening to the song Mercedes and Blaine were working on.

"Good morning sleepyhead!" Mercedes, still wearing that sexy black dress she wore last night, said brightly. "God you're a heavy sleeper. The music didn't wake you up?"

"No, I didn't hear a thing." He bent over and kissed Mercedes. "I barely remember last night. Was I any good?" he asked in a whisper.

"See, I said you wouldn't remember me." She teased. "We both decided to just go to sleep and just in case I was too much temptation I slept in Sunny's room. Nothing happened there either."

"You gonna give me another chance?"

"Another date? Sure we can go out again. I need to talk to you when we're both sober."

"I'm sober now." Noah put on his sexiest smile.

"We're going for a walk." Mercedes announced to the gathering before grabbing Noah's hand and heading down the beach.

"So I promised to tell you my life's story." Noah said, stepping over a piece of seaweed. "That will take all of 10 minutes. I have a younger sister, Leah. My dad left right after Leah was born so it was just me, mom, Leah and the occasional child support check. Very occasional. I was a handsome enough pool-boy and Terry, Bette's bio-mom, was a trophy wife about 10 years older than me. Her husband was about 10 years older than Terry. Will brought her everything money could buy and I took care of the rest. I guess I was something money could buy too. Anyway, one broken condom and hello Bette."

"So Shelby's not her biological mother?"

"No. Terry tried to pass Bette off as Will's baby but he was just old, not senile. One he started counting backwards he wanted no parts of Bette. He was still crazy about Terry but he wanted me and Bette gone. I was young, young enough to be embarrassing to Will and legal trouble for Terry. I was 15 when this all happened, under the legal age of consent. He gave me money to go away and they put Bette up for adoption. I signed the paperwork, took the money and came here. I kept in touch with Bette, tried to visit her at least once a year."

"Didn't your family care, you leaving home so young?"

"My family?" He picked up a rock and threw it into the ocean. "I said I had a younger sister? She was five years younger than me. Turns out..." He threw another rock "I have a younger brother, at least one, who's only two years younger than me. God knows how many of us there are. My mom was too busy dealing with that to worry about me. I had relatives here and a hundred thousand dollars from Terry." He picked up a rock but instead of throwing it into the ocean tossed it from hand to hand. "That's it, the story of Noah Puckerman."

She stopped and stared at Noah. "Did you love Terry?"

"Did I love her?" He squinted at the ocean. "No. Love wasn't what she was paying me for."

"Did you care about her at all?"

"Not really. Like I said, that's not what the relationship was about."

"What was it about?"

"Sex for her, money for me."

"I don't know if I could do that." She picked up a seashell.

"I'm not asking you to pay me." He laughed.

"I'm not offering to pay you. It's just...if we started dating...eventually there'd be sex...I guess...and how would that work? I'm supposed to be setting a good example for Bette, you and I have to work together. I don't think I'm ready to be in a relationship, I just got out of one." She said the words she'd been rehearsing all night, wondering how they sounded out loud. "Maybe I just want to have some fun, screw around a bit, I've never done that before."

"To tell you the truth, I've never been in a long-term relationship. Maybe it's my dad's bad example but I never saw the point of being married, signing up for a life sentence. When you're done with me just say so and we're done. I'd appreciate it if you didn't throw things, but I've got fast reflexes."

"How does that feel, having sex with somebody you don't care about?"

"Remember, this all happened when I was a horny kid. I'm not like that any more. I don't feel the need to sleep with every woman I see and I don't feel the need to be joined at the hip with every woman I ever slept with. And anyway, Isn't that what that song you're working on is about? I used to love you but now it's just about sex?"

"Yes. That's how it felt at the end of my marriage, like he was just going through the motions, like something was missing." She shrugged. "Turns out he was just tired."

"Going through the motions ain't bad and just because we go out together doesn't necessarily mean we have to have sex. I never thought I'd say this but your relationship with Bette is more important to me than having sex with you." He leered at her. "Let me rephrase that, if you want to screw around a bit I want it to be with me. But not if it affects Bette." He pulled her into a hug.

"I don't know, why don't we just take this slow? Just see how it goes."

"Sure, we can just take this slow and decide for sure where things are going before Bette gets back at the end of summer."

**-9am, Tuesday morning-**

"Good morning, Mr. Evans, nice to see you again."

"Sam, you can call me Sam." He shook hands with Dr. Pillsbury.

"Ok Sam. Have a seat and tell me what brings you in today."

"First, I want to say thanks for your help last year." He looked at the red-haired therapist. "Things didn't work out with Mercedes and me but your counselling sessions were helpful. You did the best you could with the information you had at the time."

Emma folded her hands and waited for Sam to continue.

"I wasn't honest with either of you at the time. I know you both thought the issue was children, that she wanted a baby and I didn't, but that's not the whole story."

"What is the whole story?"

"I didn't want a baby because I wasn't sure if I wanted to be married."

The trained therapist waited.

"I wanted...I want...to sleep with any woman I wanted, and I could. I couldn't believe it, that what you read about women who hang around stars was true. I didn't want a baby, or a wife, tying me down. I should have just told her that, but I knew that would hurt her. She knew I'd been unfaithful but she thought it was a one-time, alcohol fuelled thing."

"And she was wrong about that?"

"Yeah." Sam admitted. "She was wrong about that."

"So what exactly brings you in here today?" Emma Pillsbury asked again.

"Right!" Sam was happy to be past that part of the conversation. "So lately I've been having trouble sleeping. I hoped you could write a prescription for something."

"How long have you been having trouble?"

"Couple of months. I started a new, serious relationship a couple of months ago. I guess it started about then."

"Does your girlfriend know about your past?"

"She was part of it."

"And she trusts you? Knowing that?"

"I guess. It's kind of an open relationship."

"What does that mean to you?"

"Well, if I happen to be out on location. Well, shit happens."

"That's your definition of a serious relationship? Shit happens?"

"Shit happens." Sam repeated. "I'd still be married to my wife if she had an understanding that shit happens."

"Would you mind bringing your girlfriend along for our next meeting? I'd like to clarify how she feels about your relationship."

"Sure, I'll bring her along but I really don't see how that's relevant."

"I also want you to get a checkup, make sure there's no medical problem." Emma pulled out a prescription pad. "Meanwhile here's a prescription that will carry you for a month. I need to see the relationships that are important to you before I can help you. See you next month?"


	5. Two of Us

**Thanks for all your kind reviews and requests for clarifications. This is a little long but it's the final chapter. Hopefully all questions will be answered. Thanks for following along.**

* * *

"You know what Britt? I'm the luckiest woman in the world." Santana scooped batter into a pan.

"You are?"

"Yes I am. One I have the smartest, most talented, most beautiful girlfriend in the world."

"San!" Britt frowned. "You're cheating on me already?"

"And the funniest! Did I mention I have the funniest girlfriend in the world?"

"That's a lot to live up to." She discretely levelled the amount of batter in the pans.

"And you have. My abuela swore it couldn't be done but you taught me to cook!"

"Abuela?"

"Grandma. That's Spanish for grandma. She wouldn't let me near a stove, said I was a disgrace to Latinas all over the world, and you taught me how to cook."

"It's just a cupcake baby." Britt said shaking her head.

"Santana in an apron making cupcakes." She giggled. "I oughta send a picture to my folks. Santana in an apron and no fire department involvement. All thanks to brilliant Ms. Britt."

"You're welcome babe." She kissed her girlfriend. "But maybe you should put on some clothes. I mean you wearing just an apron is getting me hot but your abuela might not appreciate it."

"See? There's the smart part! And this fundraiser you came up with!"

"I didn't invent PFLAG, I just volunteer there. And this fundraiser happens every year."

"But if you hadn't mentioned you're cooking desert for it I wouldn't have thought about it. And Blaine, he can't release an album but he can sing at a fundraiser and if that organization releases and album? Well, it's not Blaine's album, is it? And it's all within his contract."

"But if it's not Blaine's album you don't get paid, right?"

"Trivial. It's for a good cause and it's publicity. And Blaine needs the practice, he's an actor more than a singer. Mercedes has lot of experience singing in public, she used to do that with Sam all the time, but she needs the publicity. She's got plenty of material and she'd damned good." She looked at Britt, also wearing nothing but a frilly apron. "Did I mention I have the sexiest girlfriend in the world?"

Britt smeared chocolate icing on Santana's bare breast. Then she licked it off, circling her erect nipple with her tongue. "While the cupcakes cool lets get you cleaned off."

* * *

**Meanwhile on the other side of town**

"Thank you so much for helping me with this." Mercedes tucked the last basil plant into its hole.

"You don't have to keep thanking me." Noah picked up the empty plant tray. "It wasn't that hard, building this raised garden for Artie. Now he'll have fresh vegetables and herbs to use in the restaurant. That's a pretty impressive birthday present."

"It's not his birthday." Mercedes patted mulch around the plants. "Not really. He calls it the day he was born again. It's the fourth anniversary of his accident."

"Really? I always wondered what happened."

"You know how he and Sunny keep joking about being trained by the CIA? That's true, only in this case CIA stands for Culinary Institute of America. They're both professionally trained chefs." She checked the irrigation system for the raised boxes. "Artie and Sunny went to school together, almost got married in college. When they graduated Artie came here to work in the family business and Sunny, Tina and Britt worked together, in a food truck of all things. Hot Mamas was the name of it. I saw a picture of it, it was like a Hooters on wheels. Artie was executive chef here when he was hurt in a car accident, a delivery van driver texting while driving. Sunny came here to take care of him and help with the restaurant. Tina showed up a little later and Sunny went back to Philadelphia. Britt came about six months before you arrived."

"And when did you start cooking here?"

"Sam and I both worked here, front of house. I like the kitchen better than being a waitress so Artie taught me how to be prep chef. Tina didn't have formal training but she's a hell of a cook. She learned from Sunny and Artie. Then, when Sam signed his contract we invested some of the money in the restaurant." She looked at the wide gravel pathways and the carefully planted wooden boxes. "All set for when he gets back. Just one last thing." She picked up the small tools they used to plant the garden and pointed to the empty mulch bag. "Can you bring that along?"

He followed her into the empty restaurant, dropping the trash into the dumpster as they passed it. The tools she put in a tin bucket by the back door. Then she headed to the storage room on the second floor. "Have you ever been up here?"

"No, I thought it was just extra linens and stuff."

She stopped with her back to the door and smiled at him in the dim light. "It's hardly ever used anymore. " She opened to door to a small room bathed in sunlight. There was a bed covered in white sheets and sprinkled with lavender petals. He only knew they were lavender because Mercedes had just planted a tray of them in the garden and he remembered the color and scent. The ceiling fan scattered the scent around the room. Mercedes was smiling, laughing almost, and soft jazzy music was playing.

"Artie used to live here, before the accident." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sometimes, when we used to have live music more often, people stayed over. Nobody's been here for years."

"Looks spotless now." Noah sat down beside her.

She giggled nervously. "I cleaned up yesterday. I thought, maybe, I might need it."

He looked deeply into her eyes, God she had beautiful eyes. "I'd never thought I'd say this, but no."

"No?" Mercedes blushed, embarrassed. "No?"

"No. Mercedes, I have to be honest with myself. I want fun and games and no regrets when it's over. No regrets from either of us. There's a kind of girl who can handle that and I know how to spot them. Sorry babe, you ain't it. Much as you may want to be you aren't."

"But I want to do this!" She demanded. She never imagined getting a guy in bed was going to be so difficult.

"So do I, but no." He looked at her sadly. "See, you're already mad at me. You really think having this same conversation two weeks from now is going to be less painful?" He stood up and stroked her cheek. "You're looking for love, not sex. Be careful, babe." He left her crying alone on the bed.

* * *

**And on the other, other side of town**

Quinn Fabray looked at he display on her cellphone. Damn! It's 4pm which makes Sam 2 hours late. Pick me up at the dress shop, how hard is that to understand? Of course he'd have an excuse, there's always an excuse. It's a good thing he's rich and hot or she'd dump his ass. She dialled his number and waited while it rang and rang and rang. At last he picked up.

"Hmmm?'

"Sam! It's Quinn! Where the hell are you?"

"It's 4 in the morning! I'm trying to sleep."

"It's 4 in the afternoon."

"Shit! Really?" Quinn heard the phone hit the floor and then disconnect.

She called again. "You need me to come over?"

"No, no! I just gotta..." he mumbled something.

"Great! We still on for tonight?"

"What? Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight." She didn't try to hide how irritated she was. "Your friend's party?"

"Fuck! What time was that?"

"Eight. I'll pick you up at 7:30. No, make that seven. See you then."

"What a minute!" he yelled. "I'll pick you up at seven. Just wait at your house." He hung up before she could respond.

That was the odd thing about Sam, Quinn thought looking at the dead phone. Correction, one of the many odd things about Sam. They'd been dating off and on for almost a year, seriously for two months now and she'd only seen the inside of his house once. God! That was a disaster but at least the sex was decent back then. Now? He comes over, she'd give him a blow job, he leaves. Occasionally they go out for dinner but for sex that's it. He never asks her if she wants anything, he won't spend the night. If she didn't know better, if she hadn't followed him home a few times, she'd think there was another woman involved. But no, he goes to that big empty house alone. Quinn can see the end of this 'relationship' the same end as all her others. Maybe, just maybe, since he's not coming across with sex, he can still get her a part on that show of his. Finally meeting his friends, she thought, it's my first step into his real life.

* * *

**9 that night**

Late, as usual, Sam pulled into the parking lot of the darkened restaurant. Closed for a private party the sign in the front door said. He followed the sound of music to the back patio.

"Sam!" Santana pulled him into a drunken kiss. "I was just about to call the police." She stared at him in the dim light. "How you doing?"

"Great. Just great." And he really felt good for a change.

"I thought you were bringing Quinn." She looked at his car for any sign of movement. "We all braced ourselves."

"No, that's over."

"Again?" She handed Sam a bottle of water. "You guys lasted, what? A whole month this time?"

"It's really, truly over this time. Downside of therapy," He said with a laugh. "All this unaccustomed deep thinking."

"Well you actually look happy for once." She pulled him deeper into the crowd of people. "Come see the present Mercedes and Noah made for Artie."

Later that evening, Sam stood on one side of the patio, watching the couples dancing. Mercedes had started the evening dancing with Noah but now she was sitting on the other side of the patio, watching Noah dance with Sunny. Sam sat down next to here.

"Hey!" he handed her a bottle of water.

"Hey yourself." She looked at the dancers for a few minutes. "Where's Quinn, Santana said you were bringing her along."

"I'm surprised you asked. I thought you hated Quinn."

"I never hated Quinn. No point in blaming her for what happened."

"What about me?" He asked, training his green eyes on her. "Do you hate me?"

**-1 year earlier -**

Mercedes stood in the quiet hallway of their new house, glad to be home. Her new nephew was cute and all but between her brother Marcus, her sister-in-law Devi, her parents, Devi's mother and grandmother and all their friends and relatives the place was a madhouse. All those people fussing over baby Caleb just reminded her of the fight, maybe it was more of a disagreement over timing, she'd been having with Sam about babies for the last few months.

At last Devi got mad and made everybody who wasn't a grandmother go home. As a result Mercedes was home a week early and seeing things Sam's way, a baby was a big change in a couple's life.

Standing in the hallway she briefly wondered where Sam was but then remembered he sometimes had early morning calls at the studio. She started into the kitchen to make coffee, maybe a cake for Sam when he gets home.

"Sam!" Suddenly he was standing in the hallway in his boxers, bouncing nervously from foot to foot.

"Mercedes! What are you doing home? I didn't expect you till next week."

"I came home early." She kissed her husband of 6 six years. "I would say it's because I missed you so much, which is true, but actually Devi threw me out. Don't you have to get to work?"

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah." He pulled her arm towards the bedroom. "Let's go out for breakfast."

"I've been eating other people's food all week, I just to cook in my own kitchen." she headed back towards the kitchen.

He stood in front of the kitchen door. "It's a wreck in there."

"That's okay. I can clean it while you're gone. You know I don't mind." she pushed by him.

"Who is she?" both women asked at the same time – the black woman standing in the doorway holding a suitcase and the blonde in her underwear drinking coffee at the kitchen table.

"My wife." Sam said in resignation. "You know I have a wife."

"You said she left you!" the blonde screamed.

"I never said that Quinn." he spoke like he was talking to a small child.

"You said she was gone!" Quinn's face contorted in rage.

"I never said she was gone for good. She was just out of town for a while."

"What the fuck, Sam!" he ducked, barely avoiding the coffee cup that flew past his head. "I can't believe you're that big of an ass!"

Mercedes looked at the fragments of her favorite cup laying on the floor at Sam's feet.

"Oh don't be such a drama queen. You know I have a wife!"

"Had a wife." Mercedes picked up her suitcase. "You had a wife. Goodbye Sam." She looked at the blonde. "You two deserve each other."

**- end flashback -**

"That there was somebody like Quinn hanging around wasn't exactly a shock. That she wasn't the first skinny white woman who's bed you ended up in wasn't a total surprise, as deeply as I was in denial about it. That you had the nerve to bring her into our, I guess your, house? That was humiliating. Once I got over that I realized I could never hate you. We're just not supposed to be together. You're happier now, aren't you? Quinn's what you wanted, right?"

"Apparently not. We just had a fight and called it quits. That's why I was so late."

"You had a fight? You used to hate to fight, back in the old days."

"I know." He twisted the water bottle in his hands. "You remember Dr. Pillsbury?"

"That marriage counsellor?" She watched Sam nod and continued. "She wasn't very good, was she?"

"It wasn't her. It was me. Do you remember right before we met Blaine?"

"Of course." She remembered what seemed at the time to be the lowest point in their marriage. "I got sick, we didn't have any insurance and we spent all our money paying for doctors and medicine. I was too sick to work and we almost went back home to Ohio. Artie let us live above the restaurant for free, we sold almost everything we owned, you got that terrible job."

"I hated that job."

"So did I but it paid pretty good, good enough we could stay in LA. Then Blaine saw us performing in the restaurant and introduced us to Santana. So things worked out okay."

"Mercedes, I need to tell you something. That job didn't pay that well."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean working in a club didn't account for all the money I brought home."

"What does that mean, Sam?" She asked, alarmed.

"It means I danced at private parties."

"How private?" Okay, at least he didn't rob a bank.

"Not like that. I was still faithful back then, as faithful as a guy getting groped by a bunch of drunk women at a bachelorette party can be."

"They groped you?" She asked sadly.

"Sometimes. But it didn't matter because we needed the money."

And suddenly the whole picture came into focus. She'd always wondered why, what triggered Sam's rampant cheating, how the guy who resisted a school full of cheerleaders turned into the man she divorced. And now she knew. "You did that for me and you resented it." Sam shook his head. "Of course you resented it. You're getting groped and god knows what else, living in a tiny room over a restaurant, all just to pay my hospital bills. And the whole time I'm just sitting around whining that I want to go back to Ohio. Of course!" Mercedes wasn't sure if an apology on her part was called for here. Maybe he had his reasons but it was still wrong.

"How can you think that!" Sam asked in shock. "You didn't get sick on purpose. They weren't your bills, they were our bills. And who wouldn't want to go home under those circumstances? I was the one being selfish. I didn't want to go back to Ohio, even temporarily, because I knew I'd never get out again. I had a wife that was sick and needed her parents but no, I made you stay here, alone, while I lied about where I was going and why. Getting groped was the price I was willing to pay. " He took a deep breath. "Anyway, it was years ago and there's no point arguing. Here's what I need to say. That's when I started lying to you, about where the money was coming from. That's when I started putting women into categories. Women I respected and women like the ones at the parties, who were only good for one thing. Maybe, if I hadn't gotten the show, nothing would have happened. But I did get the show and started spending time with men who used women and women who didn't mind being used. They didn't care as long as they got to say they blew a movie star. But I should have cared, because of you. I hurt you in so many ways." He took her hand. "I know it's too late and words are weak but I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. That's what I want to say."

Mercedes stared at the ground. "How could I have missed that? I thought you were worried about me but the whole time you're dying inside and I missed it."

"I didn't want you to see it. Mercy, I'm the only guilty one here. But I've changed and want to prove it to you."

"Sam, I..."

"I don't know if you're free right now, but I'm willing to wait for you."

"That's not it. Sam, I love you. I think I'll always love you. But I don't trust you and I can't live with a person I can't trust. I can't think of what you could do to prove you've changed. I always thought, back then, that we had a good relationship but now I find out, what? We couldn't even have an honest discussion about where we were going to live?"

"I can understand that. Dr. Pillsbury? I've been seeing her again, that's why I mentioned her. She asked me about relationships that are important to me and that was the beginning of the end of Quinn. I realized she's not important to me, not at all, so I had to ask myself why I was with her. Your's is the only face I see when I think about important relationships."

"Sam..."

"I don't expect you to take me back just because I say I've changed but can you do one favor for me? Can you come to Dr. Pillsbury's with me? I know, it's selfish of me to ask but could you? Please."

* * *

**Tuesday morning**

They had passed the little cafe near Dr. Pillsbury's office many time when they saw her for counseling but today was the first time they stopped. Back then they both knew counseling wasn't going to work but neither one wanted to say it out loud. So Sam would come to the session straight from the studio and Mercedes would go straight to work right after the session. But today was different and Sam picked her up from the restaurant. He didn't have anything planned for the afternoon and she didn't have to be back at work until 4 so they stopped at that little cafe to order lunch.

"Thank you for coming." Sam pulled her chair back for her. "I know it wasn't easy to sit through."

"It had to be even harder to live through it." She thought about what he'd gone through, what he had hidden from her all these years. "I don't know if I could have survived being treated like a piece of meat like those women treated you. I can see know how you felt that way about them."

"Thanks. I know what I did can't be undone in one therapy session, but maybe we could go out together sometime? We both like the zoo and haven't been in years. We could go to the zoo, maybe?"

Mercedes looked into those beautiful green eyes. He wasn't the sweet 19 year old she'd married and he wasn't the arrogant 26 year old she'd divorced. Mercedes decided she wanted to know who this Sam is. "Yes. I'd like that..." she looked at the display on her suddenly vibrating cellphone. "It's San. She never calls unless it's an emergency. Do you mind?"

"No," Sam picked up the menu. "Go ahead."

"Hey San. You've got two minutes." Sam contemplated the beef vs the veggie burger. "No! You're shitting me!" He looked up. "Well Damn!" She sounded impressed. "He's right here, why don't you ask him?" Then he heard her laugh loudly. "Hell no! If we were doing that I definitely wouldn't have stopped to talk to you! Hold on." She passed the phone over.

"Hey San, what's up?"

"Don't you answer your phone anymore?" His manager asked.

He patted his pockets. "I think I left it in the car. That's why you called?"

"Fuck no. I called to tell you..." She paused dramatically. "You're going to the Grammys!"

"The Grammys! Why?"

"For singing you fool! That's what Grammys are for. You're up in two categories."

"Two!" Mercedes looked up at Sam. San had only mentioned Best New Artist.

"Best New Artist." Another dramatic pause. "And best performance by a duo or group."

"Duo or Group?"

"Yes indeed! Tell Mercedes to buy a new dress, she's going to the Grammys!"


	6. The End

**This is the new last chapter - for realsy this time. The Green Sphinx is right, I'm getting lazy in my old age. Anyway I decided to rewrite the ending.**

* * *

Mercedes sat opposite the producer of "Boys School." She was flanked on one side by Sam and their agent, Santana. One the other side sat Jacob and his agent Sebastian Smythe. Jacob counted his lines and smiled, more lines than he's had in the two years he's been on this show. Sam skimmed his lines and waited for Mercedes' reaction. Santana and Sebastian feigned indifference, constantly checking their blackberries.

Finally Mercedes looked up from her script.

"Well, in the words of the character you so cleverly named Porsche" Sam and Mercedes both rolled their eyes "Hell to the no! I don't do black and sassy."

"You didn't have a problem with it last year." the producer reminded her.

"That was then" she reminded him "and this is now."

"We still have what we filmed last year." the producer tried again.

"Great! Good luck with that. Of course you don't have any scenes of me and Sam. And of course I didn't sing." She stood up. "Can we try a little honesty here? Ratings are down, you need a stunt, Sam and I have a Grammy nomination. So I show up as Jacob's long lost sister who sings a duet with Sam for no particular reason and then disappears from the face of the earth. I could be wrong, maybe the duet with Sam is a huge coincidence and you decided independently to beef up Jacob's role. That's possible and long overdue but, like I said, I don't do black and sassy."

"I have a girl that will do it." Sebastian said, trying to sound casual.

"Great! I wish her the best of luck." Mercedes headed for the door and stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Of course I have another idea." She pulled a packet from her purse and handed it to the producer. "Why don't you take a look and give me a call?" She let the door slam behind her.

* * *

_Freedom's just another word for  
Nothing left to lose  
And nothing  
Ain't nothing but at least it's free_

_"Me and Bobby McGee" - Kris Kristofferson_

"Freedom's one thing, reckless is another." Artie said, scanning the wares at the produce market.

"Well what did she have to lose?" Tina asked. "Not like she's going to starve to death, If she didn't want to do it..."

"Guys, I'm standing right here." Mercedes interrupted, putting peppers in the basket in Artie's lap. "I just threw away my only shot at stardom and you don't even care."

"Sure we care. I had big dreams of being a hanger-on, sponging off you." Tina said. "Finally getting out of that hot and sweaty kitchen."

"Oh babe, I love you hot and sweaty." He rubbed Tina's swelling belly.

"Well at least I get a promotion out of this, I mean that." she pointed to Tina's belly and then looked at her ringing cellphone. "Well lookie, lookie. Momma's got a message from her agent."

**A couple of months later**

Sam looked at his ex-wife, studying a copy of Rolling Stone magazine in the airport lounge. She was sprawled across two seats, waiting to start this cast trip to Canada for location filming. He had to hand it to her, she had brass balls all right. Light years away from the shy girl he married years ago. San couldn't have done a better job in negotiating this appearance, Mercedes got everything she wanted. Four songs spread out over two episodes. And very well written episodes that came with a writer's credit for her. As she said, if you want something done right you'd better do it yourself. He walked over and casually kicked her leg aside.

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself. I barely recognized you with that clever disguise. You kind of remind me of a kid I knew in high school."

"So you approve of the new/old hair color?" He ran his hand though the temporary dye job.

"I always liked you with brown hair." She sat up and moved the magazines aside. "Must be hell, having to sneak around in a disguise. Nobody knows what I look like."

"They will after this." She snorted in reply. "Since when do you write scripts?"

"Since Britt introduced me to fan fiction. Her stuff stinks, don't tell her I said that, but it's good practice. And it's a lot like songwriting, just longer." She leaned forward and whispered. "Sometimes I wonder how the writers on your show keep their jobs."

"You better keep that opinion to yourself. They already hate me on the set, you don't want to be in that boat."

"Who could hate you?" She joked. "You're so likeable and all."

"Cause of the album. The rest of them have to wait another year before they can do a solo album, condition of their contract. Because I came in as a midseason replacement for the original generic blonde slice of beefcake Santana negotiated that I could complete any 'work in process' at the time of signing. That's why she rushed us into the studio right before I signed. She's great!"

"Yeah, she is great." Mercedes agreed. "She called me up to congratulate me on my well-timed hissy fit. I thought she'd be mad, I mean she doesn't get paid if I don't work, but she thought that script was bull-shit too. Even Jacob liked my script. His agent is an ass, poor guy."

"It's going to be weird, working together, singing together. We haven't since...before."

"Well, I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for Dr. Pillsbury. I always thought she was kinda incompetent but, the couple of times I went with you..." She shrugged. "Back then, when you used to say those women meant nothing to you? I never understood that, how that could be possible. I thought you were either a liar or a psychopath. Now I see it was a coping mechanism as they say in psych-talk. Anyway you're happier now, aren't you? I think your girlfriend Patrice, the yoga instructor, is very nice."

"Yes, it's nice dating somebody who's a regular person, who's not out with you because they want to be seen with somebody famous. I could be a gardener for all she cares."

"I'm with you on that." Her phone buzzed and she looked at the display. "Excuse me, I gotta take this. Hey Joe!" she said with a low giggle.

"So who's Joe?" Sam asked, sitting down next to Kurt, her new bestie of six months.

Kurt looked up from the notebook he was writing in. "I give up, who's Joe?"

"Joe as in Mercedes and Joe." Sam tried to be casual.

"Oh, that Joe. Joe Hart. She never mentioned him?" Kurt peered over the top of his glasses. "She met him via Tina a couple of months ago. He's an farmer or something, they're into using local produce at the restaurant." He turned back to his notebook, one he must have borrowed one from Mercedes because it had Dora the Explorer on the cover.

"And..." Sam prompted him.

"And what? Joe's a nice guy, kinda quiet but nice. They like each other and she's back to writing sweet sappy love songs. Seems happy." He closed the notebook and put it away in the blue canvas shoulder bag he carries everywhere. "Any particular reason why you care?" He looked past Sam to Blaine, standing near the magazines talking to Quinn, then back to Sam.

"Well, we used to be married you know."

"I know. And there's a reason you're no longer married and you decided months ago to see other people. So why all the concern now?"

"Hell if I know." He said honestly. "Just as long as he's good to her, I guess that's the only reason I would care."

"He's good to her, I've been out with them. They're both looking for the same thing or more accurately they're both not looking for the same thing." Sam looked at him, puzzled. "Neither one of them is looking for a fuck buddy, somebody to keep their bed warm for a couple of weeks." Kurt clarified. "That's makes them different than 95% of LA. They're seem good for each other, if that's what you're thinking about."

Sam looked at Mercedes, standing in front of the terminal window, taking a video of herself smiling and waving goodbye. She blew a kiss to the cellphone and hit send.

* * *

**A year later**

Sam looked at Mercedes, her head leaning against his shoulder. Just like always, 10 minutes into the red-eye flight back to LA and she was out. He tucked the blanket around her shoulders and looked out the window as Las Vegas faded away. He didn't move, afraid of disturbing her. Instead he just stared into the darkness.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked softly, startling him from a daydream.

"I thought you were asleep." He moved the arm that was around her shoulders. "I was just thinking how proud I am of you."

"Me?"

"Well, I'm proud of myself too. I'm proud of both of us."

She yawned. "Go on."

"Well, we came here all those years ago, and we did everything on our list. We have a Grammy together. We both have Emmys, you for writing and me for acting, and that wasn't even on the list. You wrote yourself into the show, guided those hacks into writing characters that make sense from one week to the next, and got a Golden Globe for your efforts. Also not on the list. We tour together, we're starting a production company together. God, we didn't even know what a production company was back then. We've done it all."

"You're right." She sat up and tightened her seatbelt. "Too bad we forgot to put stay married on the list."

"Yeah, that should have been on my list, that's for sure." He agreed. "But now, since you turned down that marriage proposal from Joe..."

"And Patrice moved to Boston..."

He looked at his watch 12:01am. "Do you remember where you were eight years ago today?"

"Of course I do." She laughed. "We told everybody we were getting married at sunrise cause the pictures would look beautiful an it was symbolic. New day, new life. You think they guessed we just wanted to get to the sex part?"

"My dad did. He gave me a whole speech about treating you with love and respect. Too bad I didn't listen."

"Eight years ago we were both babies." She linked his hand in hers. "We had so much growing up to do."

"I've tried to prove to you that I've changed, that I'm a different man. Can we start a new list, starting today?"

* * *

**Two years later**

"Thank you, Ohio!" Mercedes waived her guitar at the crowd gathered at the Ohio State Fairgrounds. The crowd roared for the local kids made good. A Grammy for their duet, a gold record, the last six months on the road supporting their latest album. Sam looked at Mercedes, it had been one hell of a ride.

"You've been the best audience. Ever!" The crowd roared again. "But we've gotta leave now."

"Awwww!" the crowed roared in unison.

"I know, I know." Mercedes laughed, her brown eyes twinkling. "But we're going doing our favorite song. The very first song we ever recorded and the one that got us a Grammy. Hell yeah!" They started playing.

_Two of us riding nowhere_  
_Spending someone's_  
_Hard earned pay_  
_You and me Sunday driving_  
_Not arriving_  
_On our way back home_  
_We're on our way home_  
_We're on our way home_  
_We're going home_

_You and I have memories_  
_Longer than the road that stretches out ahead_

_Two of us wearing raincoats_  
_Standing solo_  
_In the sun_  
_You and me chasing paper_  
_Getting nowhere_  
_On our way back home_  
_We're on our way home_  
_We're on our way home_  
_We're going home_

_You and I have memories_  
_Longer than the road that stretches out ahead_  
_We're going home  
We're going home  
We're going home_  
_Better believe it_

_Two of Us – The Beatles_

"Good night Ohio! Drive safely!" They linked hands and left the stage.

**Backstage**

"You guys were awesome, as usual." The pretty blonde holding a brown-skinned baby her her hip gushed. "Jack laughed the whole time."

Sam took the baby from her arms and kissed him. "So you liked it little man?" He wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, I hope that's not your judgement." He carried the baby over to the changing table to change his diaper.

"Thanks, Stacey, you're the best auntie/nanny ever." Mercedes kissed her on the cheek. "I don't think we could have done this tour without you."

"It's been so much fun and Jack's the sweetest baby. Ever! And now we're home for a week with nothing to do. Do you guys mind if a take a few days off? Look up a few old friends in Lima?"

"Not at all, we have a few things to do in Lima too." Mercedes said slyly.

"Like what?" She asked just as slyly. "Like finally making an honest man of my brother?"

"How did you guess, Sherlock?"

Stacey listed her clues "I know Sam's been begging you to get married since you announced your bun in the oven a year ago. Stevie flying into town for the weekend? Cozy little dinner with both families? Santana suddenly showing up at the Ohio State Fair? Yeah right."

"Okay, busted. I know it's crazy - love, marriage, divorce, trust, love, baby. This just seemed like the right time and the right place to get married again." Sam sat on the floor opposite the two women and watched his son crawl towards his mother. "I hope you're not planning on a second career as a superspy cause your baby sister figured out the whole plot." She scooped up little Jack and planted kisses on his forehead.

"Let's go little man, it's time to go home."

**-The end. Thanks for reading! -**


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